She's A Yo-Yo (Edit)
A sorry tale of bad people on bad diets doing bad
things. Alex Lee gets
to do his impressions of "Desert Storm" while
Richard Formby goes
backwards. Joe makes motorcycle and I still
feel like the Elephant Man.

Shirley Maclaine
Not, obviously enough, about the dear lady herself,
more about a miserable rainy night in Camden and the
extraordinary things that some people read these
days. Remember, when somebody writes a "self-help"
book that's exactly what they are doing: helping
themselves. Flipper says "hi", by the way.

Harlan
If you let me out on my own in that condition, what
do you think is going to happen? Butcher and
Twilight Zone collide on the streets of Hollywood,
resulting in ongoing art-misery attack and some
deeply aquamarine guitar from that nice
Peter Astor.

Our Friends The Filth
Uh... in the Sixties Beirut was a real playground
for the rich, like Cannes or Ibiza or something. A
nice place to visit. Sometimes things really do
just slide right out of control, don't they?
Lexicographical note: to anyone who finds the
juxtaposition of the words "Beirut" and "filth" a
tad obvious, I would just say that "filth" is an
agreeable little lowlife term that one uses in
London to describe our wonderful police force. I
trust that clears things up a little.

Southern Mark Smith (Big Return)
Well, the JBC really did get a big return off this
one. It opened a lot of doors for us in Europe and
America, and listening back now I think I can see
why. No, I mean that Hammond...

The Human Jungle
The title comes from a rather noir little TV series
from the early Sixties wherein the great Herbert Lom
played the extremely sexy and not entirely
unbrilliant Dr. Alexander Kordu, a psychiatrist with
the handy ability to sort out even the most
appalling cases within sixty minutes. I love that
show, but I love touring better. By the way, anyone
who makes suggestions about sex and travel is being
extremely rude.

Girl-Go
Tu as vu toutes les étoiles? The JBC lush
out in tribute to the (sadly departed)
The Perfect Disaster, featuring a superlative
example of the Richard Formby guitar assult. The lead vocal was
recorded in the studio garden at one in the morning
in mid-January. The reasoning escapes me now.
Probably, I had been very bad.

The Best Way (Edgar Wallace Mix)
"Edgar Wallace" means "serious" in surrealist
rhyming slang, which is a good way to describe the
toothache I had when O'Higgins and I did this mix.
Odd barnyard noises may be blamed on the
aforementioned The Perfect Disaster, who got in there somewhere.

She's On Drugs
We were halfway across the rockies in supernatural
British Columbia when I realised that I had never
come across a song with this title before.
Obviously something had to be done. Dave Francolini
(a wonderful man who should not be allowed to drive)
contributed some of the most hyperactive handclaps
that I have ever experienced. Then we tied him up
and put him with the others.

Pineapple Tuesday
Is it a road song? Is it a love song? Is it a
mushy title or what? I'm sorry, Jesus, every line
is true. I never enjoyed vanilla as much in all my
life. Watch carefully: Californian brainfried
road-accident-from-outer-space guitar in the area!

Big Saturday
The climactic opposite of Pineapple Tuesday,
definitely a Nordic vibe to this
one. Except for the middle instrumental, which
always makes me think of people hang-gliding in the
Alps: I think it may have been a Martini commercial
that I once saw on TV.

Panic In Room 109
The desk clerk couldn't believe it. This drunk
comes staggering into the lobby in the middle of a
thunderstorm and starts wittering in bad German. To
keep him from dripping all over the place the clerk
hands him a room key. "Excellent!" burbles the
drunk, "Room 109!" The scarey stuff kicked in the
bathroom. You know, I once spent an evening
indulging heart attacks in a Vancouver hotel room by
pinching my toe.

Partytime (Original)
I guess you could say that this was the first jazz
butcher song ever written. This recording is almost
ten years old now. I find it staggering, but there
are hundreds of people out there (I've seen them) on
whom the irony has yet to take effect. Perhaps it
would help them to know that the events described in
this song ended up with the writer in hospital. We
all like a laugh, though, don't we?

Angels
This is still one of my favourites. I wrote it in
1986 (the day they bombed Tripoli, in fact) about
things that would only come to pass three years
later. Or something. Oh God, I never make any
sense when I start to talk about this tune. The
lyrics just showed up, like automatic writing or
something. I love it anyway, and I hope you love it
too.